Christopher, brandy and Pooh
Christopher Robin is a hundred now.
He sits in his leather armchair.
By the fire.
Balloon of cognac in his hand.
Hind antique.
Golden warmth conjuring
memories and friends.
The 100 acre wood.
Piglet and Pooh.
Hide and seek.
Christopher Robin is one hundred now.
All sides of the child are becalmed.
Tiger has given up bouncing.
He says it's not dignified at his age.
But, hey, two minutes of the pistols...
Eyeore is pretty chilled these days.
He's doing a lot of pot.
Piglet and Pooh.
Still in the 100 acre wood.
Still wandering.
Idly musing.
Kicking leaves.
Through the hundred acre wood.
True friends.
Relaxed.
Talking random rubbish.
So gently ignoring
The adult pressure to join in.
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Comments
Fun is fun no matter what age. Good piece.
Just wonder Eyeore = Eeyore, typo?
Yup. Typo. That and too much beer.
Haha! XD hilarious comment
An interesting mix of poetry. Humour and calm. Like a conversation with a Grandad. Perhaps that was your intention? So bloody brilliant.
Absolutely my intention. I started in my mind with the image of Christopher as a happy and comfortable grandfather and went from there...
Fab write Nigel...made me smile...hugs x
How on Earth did I miss this one? Glad I found it now. I love this, Nigel. This is a really fabulous write. Made me smile. I loved the lines
I giggled at that, as I pictured Tigger bouncing around to the Sex Pistols 🤣🤣🤣 x
Tina hey I'm 56 and I sometimes run out of breath taking the bins out. But, if you play the Pistols I'm 17 again.
Music is life.
Haha..you make it sound like 56 is old! It is not!! Music brings back so many different memories to all of us. Wonderful how it can do that. As for the 17 bit...well, I haven't ever grown up so I am always a teenager in my head 🤣🤣 x